The Aftermath
by AssassinOfRome
Summary: What happened after the pool scene. No slash. Based on the Futurama episode 'The Sting' so I promise this has a happy ending. Rated T for bad language and drug abuse. Read and review. CHAPTER 3 IS NOW UP BUT IS VERY SHORT!
1. Chapter 1

When Sherlock woke, his head was thumping. The brightness of the lights and the whiteness of the walls weren't helping. Wait. White walls? Crap. He was in a hospital. Trying to sit up was impossible. Every time he tried, the detective's muscles screamed.

"Shh. You need rest." Mycroft's calm voice reassured his little brother.

"Where am I? Where's John?" he asked, looking into Mycroft's eyes. Sherlock wanted John to shout at him. He wanted to see him with his hands on his hips in that ridiculous beige jumper, telling him that he had to eat and sleep otherwise the doctor would make him regret it. Mycroft turned away.

"You went to the pool without telling anyone. What were you thinking, you idiot? You invited a bomber to...to talk. It thought you knew it wouldn't be that simple. He had a bomb. And John. You flat mate saved your life, you moron. When the bomb exploded, he pushed you into the pool." The politician's voice cracked.

Sherlock didn't like where this conversation was going.

"Where's John? Tell me Mycroft."

"He...he didn't make it. I'm sorry, Sherlock."

The detective leant back on his pillows. He couldn't breathe. John was gone. He couldn't be. No. Not John. His best friend was dead. And it was all Sherlock's fault. Two tears slipped from his silver eyes as Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder. A sob came from his skinny scarred chest. One word echoed inside his head.

_John._


	2. Chapter 2

The funeral was days after Sherlock woke up but it seemed like a haze of nothingness. Grey and cold and empty. He sat in a pew on the left of the church. This is wrong. He shouldn't be here. This can't be real. The vicar, a grim character with grey hair and a grave expression, began to give his sermon. Sherlock didn't listen. He didn't even bother to deduce the vicar's life story. There was no-one he could tell. He stared into space, not crying. Sherlock Holmes never cried. He just felt empty. Somewhere behind him, Sarah was sobbing uncontrollably. To his left, Mycroft let a tear slip down his cheek. Anderson, who, to be fair, did look upset, was comforting a crying Donavon who was mumbling about it being 'her fault.' Harry sat on Sherlock's right looking anguished. She was holding another woman's hand. Clara. It was a horrible place for a first meeting. The vicar raised his hands. Everyone stood prayer books in hand. They began to sing a hymn and Mycroft put a hand on his brother's shoulder for support. It was a gesture that everything would be all right. But it would never be all right again.

The wake was held at Angelo's. Everyone gave a speech about the brilliant John Watson and how much they would miss him. The tables had black velvet on them and small candles burned in remembrance. Some war friend spoke of John's bravery, Stamford spoke of his skill, Mrs. Hudson spoke of his kindness and Sarah spoke of his love. Sherlock didn't say anything. Everything he could have ever said was spoken by others. He felt useless and heavy. Strangely, Harry didn't say anything either. But she was crying and showing emotion unlike the detective. Maybe this is why Sarah singled him out.

"WHY AREN'T YOU CRYING? WHY AREN'T YOU SAD?" She screamed in his face.

"I..."

He was interrupted by her wails. "HE WAS TEN TIMES THE MAN YOU'LL EVER BE! I BET YOU'RE HAPPY HE'S DEAD! HE FELT SORRY FOR YOU. SO BE SAD! CRY A LITTLE! SHOW YOU CARE!"

The last words struck him hard. He stood up and placed a CD in the CD player. It began to play and Sherlock began to sing slowly and mournfully. All of his emotion was poured out through his music. It was surprising he didn't falter.

_"When I think back_

_On these times_

_And the dreams_

_We left behind_

_I'll be glad 'cause_

_I was blessed to get_

_To have you in my life_

_When I look back_

_On these days_

_I'll look and see your face_

_You were right there for me_

_In my dreams_

_I'll always see you soar_

_Above the sky_

_In my heart_

_There will always be a place_

_For you for all my life_

_I'll keep a part_

_Of you with me_

_And everywhere I am_

_There you'll be_

_And everywhere I am_

_There you'll be_

_Well you showed me_

_How it feels_

_To feel the sky_

_Within my reach_

_And I always_

_Will remember all_

_The strength you_

_Gave to me_

_Your love made me_

_Make it through_

_Oh, I owe so much to you_

_You were right there for me_

_'Cause I always saw in you_

_My light, my strength_

_And I want to thank you_

_Now for all the ways_

_You were right there for me_

_You were right there for me_

_For always_

_In my dreams_

_I'll always see you soar_

_Above the sky_

_In my heart_

_There will always be a place_

_For you for all my life_

_I'll keep a part_

_Of you with me_

_And everywhere I am_

_There you'll be_

_And everywhere I am_

_There you'll be_

_There you'll be"_

Sherlock stopped the CD and step out of the restaurant. He flagged a taxi and ordered the driver to go back to Baker Street. He stumbled into the flat and opened a box that he found under the sofa. It was labeled 'Memories of John'. Inside there was photos and John's beige jumper and another box. Sherlock picked it up and opened it. A needle and a test tube sat inside. His secret hoard. Picking up the needle, he twiddled it between his fingers and plunged it into his skin. The liquid flowed into his body and he slumped over sobbing. A haze of tiredness hit him and he laid his head on his arms.

Sherlock could feel himself floating. He was surrounded by stars and the sky he was floating in was velvety. Suddenly he caught sight of a pair of big brown eyes. The eyes shimmered and in their place was the eyes owner (and the eyes).

"John! You're dead!"

"Nope. Look, I can do this now." he shoved his hand into his stomach. It came out the other side. John didn't seem to be in any pain, even when he wiggled his fingers.

"Impressive." Sherlock grinned.

"Oh. Almost forgot. I've got something to give you." A cupboard appeared and John opened the door. He pulled out a small wrapped-up box. "Here you go."

"What is it?" The detective shook the box and stared at the label. John neat handwriting decorated it.

"Open it."

Sherlock was to tear the paper when John grabbed his hands.

"Sherlock, I need you to wake up."

"Wake up? I'm not..."

Sherlock jerked, panting. He picked up his phone and speed dialed Lestrade. What was going on?


	3. Chapter 3

"Look!" Sherlock cried

"What at?" Lestrade replied, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's the middle of the night. Why did you call me, Sally and Anderson here to look at your cupboard?"

"Because I had a dream."

"Great. I'll put you on the cover of Big Whoop magazine." Anderson interrupted. Sherlock glared at him and continued.

"I had a dream that John was alive. He went in this cupboard and pulled out a present. I think he's alive somewhere and trying to contact me in my dreams."

"Sherlock." Sally placed a hand on his shoulder. "John is dead. It was his funeral today. You were there. Are you alright?" She tried to place a hand on his forehead but he wriggled away.

"It just felt so real. I need to show you that it's there."

"But what if there's nothing inside your magic cupboard?" asked Anderson sarcastically. Sherlock didn't answer and yanked open the door. On the top shelf next to the tea, was a small package. Everyone gasped. The detective reached up and pulled the present towards him. He flipped the label.

_To Sherlock _

_Enjoy _

_From John_

Slowly, Sherlock unwrapped the present to reveal a box. He opened it and inside was the book on physics that Sherlock had wanted for months.

"It's just like in the dream."

Suddenly Sally tried to feel Sherlock's temperature again and she stared deeply into his eyes.

"Sherlock, are you sure you're ok? Maybe John told you that it was in there before he died and your mind just deleted it."

"But...but..."

The police force looked convinced at Sally's remark.

"Get some sleep." sighed Lestrade wearily.

"I'm not lying! John gave it to me in the dream!"

But Lestrade, Sally and Anderson had already left. Sherlock sat down on the sofa heavily. Could he have been dreaming? Or was there something wrong with him? Was he crazy? He lay with his head on the Union Jack pillow, wondering if he should sleep. In the end, drowsiness overcame him and he fell into a light slumber. He tried to dream about John again but his John would soon say the wrong thing and fade into the blackness. Sherlock had never felt as lonely in his whole life as he did at that moment.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock was exhausted when he walked into Scotland Yard. Lestrade was even calling him for minor cases now. The detctive inspector knew if this fragile a Sherlock was to become bored, he would do something they all would regret. It was an open-and-shut case, the wife killed him for the money but Sherlock hadn't really been thinking straight. After he had solved the crime, Sherlock closed his eyes and bit his lip. Just for a second. When he opened his eyes again, he was in the Scotland Yard staff room with a cup of coffee being thrust into his hand by a concern-looking Donavon. Lestrade, Anderson, Dimmock and Clarcky were looking at him with big pleading eyes.

"You know Sherlock, John wouldn't have wanted you to worry." she sighed. A part of Sherlock's brain was screaming 'But he's not here anymore! I think his wishes just went out the window!'. But the larger, more sensible section kept quiet although he did give a little scoff.

"She's right, you know." Lestrade interrupted.

"Yeah Sherlock. In every life,we have some trouble." Dimmock agreed.

"But when you worry you make it double."

He and Clarcky began to sing. "Don't worry, be happy."

"Landlord say your rent is late," Lestrade unknowingly reminded Sherlock he had yet to pay Mrs Hudson's monthly fee.

"You may have to let the gate." Clarcky continued.

"But don't worry. Be happy." Suddenly a white powder seemed to fall from the sky like snow. Dimmock exploded as soon as a flake touched him. John always loved the winter. But upon closer inspection, it reviled it was not frozen water particles covering the surfaces, it was cocaine. Anderson was suddenly on a Elvis-Style stage with his name blaring in lights above him.

"Ain't got no class, aint got no style,

The ladies vomit when I smile,

But does Andy worry,

Bah you wish! Be happy." A flake landed on Anderson's tounge and he too exploded.

"Don't worry now, Sally!" Clarcky was suddenly in a latex sparkly suit and roller skates. He was holding Sally high above his head.

"I won't! I'm happy!" The pair skated into a mountain of hyperdemic needles that appeared from nowhere and met the same fate as Anderson and Dimmock.

"TAKE US HOME LESTRADE! Oh don't worry! Be HAPPY!" Lestrade yelled at the top of his lungs, grabbing one of the needles and injecting it into his skin. There was a huge bang and the light was too bright for Sherlock eyes. He flinched away. Sally's hand touched his shoulder. Sherlock jumped.

"Sherlock? Are you OK?"

"Were you just singing?"

"Nope. Not allowed to. Court order." Lestrade joked. "Why?"

Sherlock could feel himself shaking. He put his coffee cup down. The liquid was cold and undrunk.

"I have to get out. This is nuts!" And with that he ran out into the cold air of the street.

I hope you enjoyed this. Because I couldn't have the bee stinging people, I had to resort to using the cocaine theme instead. Here's a link to the song! .com/watch?v=u-CJcI8h1tU Enjoy! AOR


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock shivered and curled up tighter, hugging his knees to his chest. The TV was blaring, louder than probably necessary. He had tried anything to block out the sound of his own thoughts. The strings on his violin had snapped hours ago and his iPod had run out of charge. Suddenly, there was a crash from the kitchen. Sherlock jumped and grabbed his violin by the neck.

"Who's there?" He cried. Someone turned around. Sherlock found himself faced with his best friend.

"John?"

John smiled gently at Sherlock. "Yes, Sherlock. It's me. Why are you acting like you've never seen me before?" He moved closer.

"B-b-but you're dead..." Sherlock stuttered. His grip slackened on the violin. John removed it from his now shaking hands.

"Last time I checked, I was alive. Are you alright?" He stroked Sherlock's sweat soaked curls. The detective shivered. "You seem cold. Let me make you some tea." John smiled as he wandered over to the kettle and flipped the switch. Sherlock just stared at him.

"You're here. You're really here."

John nodded, handing Sherlock the cup. The thin genius took it gratefully.

"I'm here and I always will be. And I'm gonna keep talking, even if you can't here me. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah..." He would have kept going but Sherlock covered his mouth.

"Shut up. I can hear you." John licked Sherlock's hand and he pulled away, disgusted.

"Sherlock, your hands are like ice. Here. Take my jumper. You need it more than I do." John slipped his beige jumper over Sherlock's bony shoulders.

"Now, Sherlock." John stared deeply into Sherlock's silver eyes. "There's one thing I need you to do for me."

"What?" Sherlock asked, putting his tea on the table and looked at John. Little John. With his big brown eyes and tufty blonde hair. John with lines of laughter creasing his face. John with the dodgy leg and shoulder. Just John. His John. Wait... his John? How could John be his? What was he thinking? Sherlock blinked and shook his head distractedly. John moved Sherlock's hair again.

"Sherlock, I need you to wake up."

"Wake up? But I'm no-" Sherlock jerked up on the sofa, eyes wide. He breathed rapidly. His violin was on the floor, obviously what had awoken him.

"John?" He whispered into the silent flat. There was no reply. He stood, feeling something slip off his chest and land on the ground. He bent down and picked up John's jumper. The jumper he had been buried in. Sherlock felt his heart leap.

"You're alive!" Sherlock shouted happily. "Oh John!"

**I felt like ending this happily for once. But it's not going to last. Everything goes downhill from now on! But until then **

**AOR**


End file.
